


Adjustments

by NairobiWonders



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: F/M, Joanlock - Freeform, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-09
Updated: 2017-03-25
Packaged: 2018-10-01 16:49:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10194284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NairobiWonders/pseuds/NairobiWonders
Summary: Recalibrations need to be made from time to time in any relationship.  Two very short chapters. More possibly to come.----Rarely, if ever, do I write in the first person. It scares me. It's so easy to mess the voice up, esp. with these characters. Please feel free to let me know if I've missed the mark, if my tenses are jumping, etc. .... and I'll see if I can adjust it.





	1. Chapter 1

Her features, sternly set, coupled with the determination with which she strode into the room gave rise within me to an instinctual need to flee. Fighting her was not an option as she would most obviously come out the victor if one were to judge her resolve by the steel in her gait. Before I could devise an escape, Watson stood before me and blocked all exits. 

A confrontation of some manner was now primed. Watson wanted to talk. I was relatively certain of the personal nature of the about-to-be-presented subject matter by the slight hesitancy that emerged in her manner. 

A list of my transgressions chased each other through my thoughts, from the smallest, a cup left precariously perched on her bedroom windowsill, to the more severe infractions, amongst which was once more succumbing to my need to ascertain her safety.... a late night sojourn to her room to watch her as she slept. 

"You and I are going to have a date night." Her words on first pronouncement were so unexpected as to be incomprehensible. Surely, I misheard. "Date night?" I dully repeated. The banality of the idea coming from someone as erudite and sophisticated as my Watson was almost laughable. Perhaps she jested. Humor on occasion still baffled me.


	2. Chapter 2

"We are going out for dinner and a movie and we are going to talk to each other like two normal people. No work talk, no forensics, no blood, no ballistics, nothing." 

There, I'd said it! I squared my shoulders and raised my chin in challenge hoping he wouldn't see how scared I was. I reminded myself he'd always had a blind spot when it came to reading me and took a deep breath.

Poor Sherlock! He looked confused, almost stunned by my request. I was just as stunned to find myself making the request. Some thought, some feeling, recently shifted within me, forcing me to admit that it was time for change. 

Our friendship or partnership or whatever it was we were to each other had become stagnant. I needed more and I was tired of playing by his rules ... at least I thought they were his rules. We'd lived together for so long that I really wasn't sure who or how or when the boundaries had been set. All I knew was that at the moment we were stuck in the doldrums, the guarded sameness of our interactions was numbing and would surely soon end in one or the other of us walking away. 

"Won't have much to say then .... " he answered in a less combative manner than I was expecting. 

"Then we will sit in silence." I stared at him and waited. I liked him, and us, too much to just let things continue as they were. We barely spoke of anything other than work these days. I knew I was equally, if not more so, to blame for our lack of communication. It had always been easier for me, when faced with too personal of an issue, to walk away rather than risk losing control. We needed to reconnect and find that spark we had early on, to fully engage, as he was fond of saying, rather than continue to drift side by side in the fog. 

The sudden boom of his voice startled me. "Alright! But I get to select the motion picture we see. You're cinematic taste is abysmal." 

I was stunned - he agreed with hardly an argument. I caught a fleeting glimpse of his face as he practically ran out of the room. He looked almost relieved. I, on the other hand, felt anxiety begin to build.


	3. Chapter 3

The restaurant was suitable. She had picked something familiar and comfortable to put me at ease no doubt but not so mom-and-popish as to make me bristle. Watson, as always, was dressed impeccably; her hair loose about her shoulders and her minimal make-up was either an attempt to signal the non-romantic nature of this "date night" she'd insisted upon or more than likely was done for her sake and comfort. We were after all not here to fool each other. She and I have too long of a history for duplicitous....

"Sherlock. Stop."

"Stop what?"

"Observing, scrutinizing, analyzing ... I know it's comforting ... I've found myself doing it too on occasion when stressed ..."

"I'm not stressed. Why would I be stressed?" I lied, barefaced lied, and I knew she knew I lied by the compassionate softening of her countenance. I felt a child caught in a fib under her gaze. 

I looked down and concentrated on a small wrinkle on the tablecloth. My fingers pushed it to and fro... to and fro ... as I re-summoned composure. "Perhaps I am a tad uncomfortable," I confessed and stole a look at her. The corners of her mouth teased the possibility of a smile and I felt my shoulders begin to loosen the death grip they had upon my neck. 

"Honestly ... so am I ..." she whispered. With her confession, my focus shifted from my own discomfort to hers.

"The time has come..." I announced, then pinned her with a pointed look and stopped. I watched her squirm just for a second before continuing, "the Walrus said, To talk of many things: Of shoes — and ships — and sealing-wax — Of cabbages — and kings — ...."

Without missing a beat, she chimed in, "And why the sea is boiling hot — And whether pigs have wings." Early on in our partnership, Watson and I discovered we shared a fondness for the works of Lewis Carroll; an oddity perhaps for two such rational beings as we. 

She stared at me for a nano-second and then she did something unexpected.

She beamed a smile, wide and warm and full of happiness. A smile that was so rarely aimed at me that it left me rather lightheaded and I spoke without varnish. "Why are we here Watson? Are you questioning our ... our partnership? Our commitment or ... friendship? Tell me what you want."


	4. Chapter 4

His frustration, the sincerity of his concern as he asked me to talk to him, was almost too much for me. I wanted to get up and run. But this was all my own doing and I owed him an answer. To my shame, I was not as straightforward with him as he with me. I couldn't ... not all at once ... not so suddenly. 

I resettled the napkin on my lap in an effort to break away from the intense scrutiny of his eyes. "Why is a raven like a writing desk..." I murmured and raised an eyebrow mockingly at him. But my mask of defense fell when I saw how hurt he was by my flippancy. Sherlock set his mouth in a thin line and jutted his chin out, nodding his head as he cast his eyes away from mine - his own mask barely hid his disappointment. His fingers nervously went back to fidgeting with the tablecloth. 

The time really had come and I did the unimaginable. I reached across the small table and touched his finger with mine as I spoke.

"There is nothing wrong. I'm not questioning anything. ... I just thought it'd be nice to spend some nonwork time together... to have fun, you know?"

Sherlock spoke to the table in an insecure whisper, "We have fun. This morning for instance, we dismantled and reassembled that Remington 870, blindfolded ... that was rather fun I thought ... no?" He brought his eyes up to mine.

"No ... well yes, actually it was fun, but I ... " it was hard to express to him what I wanted when I wasn't sure myself. "I ... I want more." I stroked the top of his index finger with mine in an effort to reassure him or perhaps myself. 

"More what?" Sherlock looked lost. And I couldn't come up with a way to express myself. 

"Maybe I mean less, not more..." I was talking to myself more so than him. "I want less rules, less boundaries ..." my heart was beating a mile a minute. His finger wrapped itself around mine and we stared at each other, two scared souls wondering if we could survive the contemplated jump into the abyss.

"Are we ready to order?" The cheery voice of our white-shirted waitress snapped us back from the edge. 

He took a second and then responded to our server's question. "I think we will start with the Oysters Rockefeller," Sherlock then turned toward me, looking for approval of his choice. I smirked and nodded; his hold on my finger tightened slightly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The oysters Sherlock orders are intended as a reference to The Walrus and the Carpenter poem, a bit of which Sherlock recites to tease and lighten Watson's stress. I realized, after the fact, oysters are also considered an aphrodisiac. Make of that what you will ...


End file.
